I don’t really know exactly how to feel. I’m neither happy, angry, or sad. I wouldn’t even consider neutral. The only thing I can think of that’s close is just being alive.
The reason for my existence is a question that is never answered. I can remember vividly the first time I asked myself that question; it was when I was younger, maybe around ten years old or so. My class was talking about what careers they’re interested in and sitting amongst themselves- I guess already creating cliques or special friendship groups nobody else is allowed in. Of course, I was the loner. I say loner because I’ve always been a loner. Since the beginning, I’ve always been quiet. I would deem it as a normal thing, though at the time I believed I was weird. I thought everything about myself was abnormal.
I wasn’t skinny.
I wasn’t attractive.
I wasn’t interesting or outgoing.
I thought that since because I didn’t have those specific traits, I couldn’t make it. Practically nobody was my friend. Not even the people I knew in my neighborhood. While I enjoyed their company, I was never exactly happy. I remember thinking to myself of why I exist because everybody was so happy, and knew what they were gonna do in life. They were truly living. They had goals, aims, and dreams. What did I have? Nothing. I had no goals. I had no aims. I had no dreams. Since I was little, it’s been the same thing every single day.
Wake up. Get dressed. Go to school. Go back home. Do whatever. Sulk. Go to bed. It sounds simple, though the routine drives me insane. People never really notice how much it frustrates me.
I thought that I really had no reason to exist if I wasn’t living my life. I was merely there; taking up space and not really benefiting anybody. I’m going to be honest, the feeling is still there.
I can appear so confident, optimistic, and understanding… yet I sicken myself sometimes when I remember that deep down, I’m having doubts and struggling to force myself into doing regular activities or whatever needs my attention and effort.
Maybe I’m just two-faced? The fake one is the fun one. The real one is screaming and asking that everybody go away.
I guess I’ve grown to like loneliness. Makes sense since loneliness is basically a part of me.
I’m always alone.
I desire attention, comfort, a shoulder to cry on. A person who is willing to stand there and let me cry. I only know one person who would do that, and she lives across the ocean.
I’m a walking contradiction. I like being alone, yet I want company. I feel desperate. I feel needy and lost… I don’t know which way I’m going. All this time, I’ve been doing whatever it takes to remove myself off the spot I’ve been on. Though what’s the point of trying if you don’t know where you’re going?
I confuse myself. I don’t understand myself. I don’t understand anything. I’m afraid of growing up. I’m afraid of the real world. I’m afraid of getting hurt, talking to people, getting a job, seeing people on a regular basis, adopting to a new environment. All I can imagine is myself living inside my room all the time, stuck behind a computer.
That’s not living.
I’m so confusing. I don’t know which way to turn, and I really don’t know what to think anymore. I’m close to giving up and continuing to go with the flow. But is that really a good idea? I don’t know. Maybe not. I wouldn’t be surprised.
Eight years.
For eight years, I’ve been questioning my existence. For eight years, I’ve beatened myself up for not being pretty. For eight years, I’ve been stuck with an extreme low self esteem and confidence.
I want to live. But my fears are taking over too much, and I don’t know how to handle myself. It’s like I’m the owner and untrained dog at the same time.
I wish I wasn’t like this. I really do wish I could just snap out of it. But I can’t.
I guess all that there’s left to say is: I’m just here, breathing and existing. I’m just not alive.
